I'll Learn Again (to fall in love with you)
by RayWritesThings
Summary: "It took his breath away each morning, how lucky he'd been to end up here again." Season 4 AU, No "Eleven-Fifty-Nine"


**Hello, readers. I've decided to start cross-posting some of my fics from AO3 and tumblr over to FFN, so if you recognize this story most likely you've read it on either of my accounts there (Ray_Writes and raywritesthings, respectively). If you haven't read it before, I hope you enjoy!**

**-RayWritesThings**

**I'll Learn Again (to fall in love with you)**

Oliver took his time waking up, as he'd relearned how to do since his time back from the island. He'd grown up surrounded by luxury after all, and, though a small voice in his head still continued to remind him of the dangers of relaxation and limited awareness, he could feel nothing but warm and content on a morning like this.

That mostly had to do with the woman curled up against his side, and, as was his habit, Oliver reached across with his free hand, brushing Laurel's hair back from her face to place a kiss there. She didn't react to the contact other than to shift slightly and smile a little wider in her sleep, safe and happy just as he was.

It took his breath away each morning, how lucky he'd been to end up here again.

He and Laurel had come back together in a series of slow, seemingly inevitable steps. Endless hours of pouring over papers at the campaign office, of training their bodies and their minds to function as a cohesive unit out in the field, of relearning how to be a team again. He hadn't realized just how much he'd missed it, just how _right_ it felt.

She'd stopped by the base in the very early morning once when he was still staying there and had seen the growing bags under his eyes and his hand rubbing at a stiff back from the spare cot. The next thing he'd known Thea had been called in to help pack up his boxes over a few admittedly weak protests of his—snatches of sleep here and there just weren't cutting it the way they used to.

Gradually, over late nights after patrol unwinding with Thea's feet propped in his lap and passing a pint of ice cream back and forth between himself and Laurel, a sort of peace had come over him; he was helping the city, and he had a family, a home.

It had nearly frightened him all over again. So many times Oliver had thought he'd been happy before only to have it all snatched away or to realize that his happiness was coming at the cost of something else. But weeks turned to months, and though the team came against obstacles and there were hard nights, the fragile bubble of hope he held inside didn't die and the urge to run from his problems once again didn't rise.

"It's just easier now," he'd tried to describe to John one night as Laurel and Thea took their turn changing out of their suits. "Having you all there to support me…it doesn't feel like it's just my mission anymore. I'm not alone."

"You never were, Oliver," the other man had pointed out.

"I know. And I took it for granted before. But if I don't say it enough, then I want you to know that you and the others, everything that you do, it inspires me."

It had been a relief, to say what he was truly feeling. He'd found himself less prone to long, brooding silences and solitary contemplation. A talk with John or a hug from Thea left him reinvigorated, and Laurel…there was no denying the effect she had on him. Had always had on him, even in times when he'd been trying to deny it. Their renewed friendship was a reward he'd never expected but wanted desperately to earn. And truly, he'd wanted even more.

He hadn't known how to begin to approach that want, however—as if he even _deserved_ to after everything he'd done—until a last-minute conflict at ARGUS had caused Digg to cancel on a team dinner to stay home with Sara and John Jr., and Thea had mysteriously found herself double-booked and backed out as well. Laurel had still been available after her shift at the office, and Oliver had seen no reason not to pick her up as planned other than his own nerves.

"You should wear green," his sister had recommended, leaning in the doorway and watching him check his own appearance in the mirror. "It's your color. _Plus_," she drawled, "it matches her eyes."

Oliver had paused for a moment, quirking a single eyebrow. "You haven't given me dating advice in a while."

"Yeah, it's almost like I'm trying to tell you something." He'd watched her reflection slip out of sight and waited for the sound of the front door closing before walking back to his closet.

Laurel hadn't commented on his clothes or when he assented to the candle being placed on the table between them or even when he'd insisted on paying the bill. She'd carried the conversation with him, of course, and it had been just as great a time as ever. At best she hadn't noticed his hints; at worst, this was her way of letting him down gently as possible. His thoughts had trended towards that melancholy prospect—at least till they got home.

"Was tonight what I think it was?"

Oliver had just shut the door behind them both and turned to find Laurel had whirled about to face him almost immediately after entering.

"I just—please don't take this the wrong way, but I just feel like tonight was _different_ than usual and that maybe it was on purpose." Laurel's eyes had searched his face—and Thea was right, they really were the most mesmerizing green—even as she shifted a half-step back. "But we've had mixed signals before, so I don't want you to think this is me…"

"You what?" He'd asked when she hadn't finished. Oliver had taken a step closer, and Laurel's eyes fell closed. Her hands had been hovering at her sides, as if just holding back from reaching out.

So he'd taken the leap for them both this time.

His original transition from Laurel's couch to Laurel's spare room had soon after become the transition from Laurel's spare room to Laurel's _bedroom_, which Thea had wholeheartedly approved of if nothing else than it allowed her to move back into her own room.

Oliver was loathe now to leave the bed or the woman who still slept in it, but a quick glance at his watch sitting on the bedside table confirmed Laurel's alarm would be going off soon enough. If he didn't get started on breakfast, she would simply hurry out the door with a granola bar hastily stuffed in her purse, and that just was not allowed on his watch.

He shuffled out into the hall, yawning and rubbing the last of the sleep out of his eyes. Navigating the apartment was a feat he would be capable of blindfolded provided Thea hadn't left out her shoes again. By the sounds of it, his sister was already up and in the shower; she'd kept odd hours ever since running the club, and he'd be likely to find her napping at some point in the afternoon before they all headed down to the base. With the bathroom already occupied, he made his way directly to the kitchen. Any morning ablutions would have to wait.

His mind drifted to what John had mentioned the other day, about him and Lyla looking for a new place. The twins were growing fast and a two-bedroom, one-bath apartment wasn't going to cut it for much longer. Oliver could empathize. As fond as he was of this place—and it was hard not to be after over ten years of Laurel owning it—there were certainly some drawbacks. The lease had originally been purchased while Laurel was still studying law and had been a good fit then. Now, with three people permanently sharing…well, he couldn't help but think they'd be tripping over each other the next time Sara came home to visit.

They had all grown and changed, but the apartment had stayed more or less the same. There was certainly evidence that he—and Thea—lived here as well. Extra toothbrushes in the bathroom as well as a varied assortment of products, Laurel's papers and files for work crammed to one side of the desk in the main room to make room for theirs, and the little cabinet-space she had in the kitchen was now crammed to bursting since he'd moved in as Oliver preferred to cook rather than order in.

He'd just finished mixing the batter when he heard the incessant _beep_ of Laurel's alarm followed by the slap of a hand on the button. Oliver grinned to himself and placed the first of the batch on the skillet, half his attention on that and the other on the sounds of the woman rising and moving about the apartment.

"Mm, are those pancakes?" Arms wound around his waist from behind as Laurel pushed up onto her toes to rest her chin on his shoulder and look for herself. "I love you."

"Me or the pancakes?" He checked.

She thought about it for a moment. "Would you be mad if I said both?"

Oliver shook his head with a laugh. He heard the water shut off in the bathroom. "Thea should be out in a few minutes. If you put the plates out, I'll give you first dibs on breakfast."

"You were going to give me first dibs anyway," she asserted with complete accuracy. Nevertheless, a kiss was pressed to the corner of his mouth, and then Laurel was skirting around the table to set plates and utensils.

He watched her, trying to imagine a bigger room—nothing so grand as the Manor where he grew up, just one where a person didn't have to squeeze themselves past the counter—a larger table, with maybe an extra chair or two. A highchair, even…

"Ollie?"

"Hm?"

She nodded to the stovetop. "They're going to burn."

"Oh." He twisted back around, turning the heat down. "Well, imagine that. You actually saved a meal."

"Funny." When he came over to scoop the finished pancakes onto her plate she was still fighting a smile, but there was that curious spark in her eyes. "What were you thinking about?"

"Just an idea," he answered. This wasn't something he thought best to spring on her first thing in the morning, particularly considering the last time they'd had this sort of conversation—though the fault there was entirely with him. "I'll tell you about it at dinner."

"Dinner?"

"I'm taking you out for dinner," Oliver decided and took a moment to appreciate that he had. If he really was going to suggest this, then he was doing it properly. He wanted to prove to her he was ready for it this time.

Laurel's eyebrows were raised, but all she said was, "I see. Should I pick out something nice to wear?"

"Wear to where? Morning." They both looked up as Thea came through the archway and plopped into her seat. She pointed at the pancakes, then looked up at him. "You're making more of those, right?"

"Yes. Someone's got to make sure you two actually eat," he remarked, waving the spatula at them before walking back to the stove again. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw them both exchange a look, and Laurel gave a shrug. Something told him the two would be speculating on what this dinner invitation was about the rest of the day, an unintended if amusing side-effect.

When he'd finally finished making breakfast, he returned to the table and pulled out his own chair. Thea passed him the syrup, and Laurel placed her free hand palm-up for him to take with his own. It was a tight fit between them in the cramped kitchen, but it still fit perfectly.

Whatever happened in the future, wherever they ended up, as long as Oliver had these two women in his life, he was home.


End file.
